


O, Christmas Tree!

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: 12 Days of Slibbs, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Bishop is highly unimpressed by Jack's definition of 'Christmas tree'. She knows just the person to change Jack's mind.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 37
Kudos: 139
Collections: 12 Days of Slibbs





	O, Christmas Tree!

**Author's Note:**

> This is #2 on the list of 12 prompts.   
> -Finding/decorating a tree

Ellie maneuvered the narrow path to the apartment, enjoying the crisp winter air and big snowflakes that fell all around her. Her Oklahoma childhood didn’t offer much in the way of winters and though it had taken her a few years to get accustomed to the D.C temperatures, she had learned to love it. The snow seemed to make all the Christmas lead-up even more, well, Christmas-y, and the door that led into the building welcomed her with a frosted wreath. She quickly banged her boots against the brick before getting buzzed in. 

Jack opened her apartment door and waited for the elevator to open. With a grin, she greeted Bishop. 

“Nice building,” Ellie admired. 

“That’s right; you’ve never been here. I really should have a housewarming party.”

Following Jack into the apartment, she had to laugh. Only Jack would have a party to christen her new place, two years after she’d moved in.

“I’ve got that file for you. You sure you want to spend the weekend going over this one? It’s pretty gruesome.” Jack waved her into the kitchen and put a kettle on. “Hot chocolate?”

“Marshmallows?”

“Of course.”

“Then yes.” Ellie looked around as she spoke. “Something about the financials is bothering me, so I’m only interested in going over that part of the case.” Jack hummed her understanding. “Is that your tree?”

Jack brought down two large mugs from the cupboard, a can of cocoa and a bag of marshmallows. “Yep.” When she saw Bishop press her lips together, she asked, “What?”

“Nothing.” She sat at the table. “I mean, if you want a tree that’s one step above a Charlie Brown Christmas, that’s your business.”

Jack narrowed her eyes in feigned annoyance. “Oh look- I’m all out of marshmallows after all.” She looked at the tiny tree in the corner of her living room and shrugged. “Two Christmases in a row and I haven’t been here. Seems pointless to put up a big tree.”

“Pointless?” Bishop reacted as if Jack had told her the moon was made of cheese. “The tree’s _the thing_. Everything else is just window dressing. Without the tree, where does Santa put the presents?”

The young woman’s exuberance brought out a laugh. “You still leave out milk and cookies, don’t you?”

“Uh, duh.”

The kettle whistle blew, and while she scooped the cocoa, she said, “I guess I was just never into Christmas. I like the carols and the holly and the cookies,” she quickly added before Bishop had a heart attack. “God, I _love_ the cookies. But the actual day?” She shrugged, pouring the hot water into the mugs. “Not high on my list of priorities.”

There was a story behind Jack’s admission, but Bishop decided to leave it for another day. Besides, she was still stuck on, “A tree!”

Jack tucked the marshmallows under her arm and brought the hot chocolate over to the table, laughing at Ellie’s insistence. “Besides,” she said, sitting, “the smaller the tree, the smaller the box Santa has to leave under it.”

Bishop nodded at the logic. “Good call.” She took a sip of the hot chocolate after dropping a generous amount of marshmallows into it. “This is perfect on a day like today.”

Jack snapped her fingers. “That reminds me! I’ve been meaning to give you that blue scarf.” She stood, popping a marshmallow into her mouth.

“That blue one with the silver threads?”

She tried to talk but could only nod until she pushed the marshmallow into her cheek. “You were ‘oohing and ahhing’ over it the other day. I want to give it to you.”

“Oh, no,” Bishop protested. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Jack beamed. “Do you want it?”

Ellie blushed. “Yeah.”

“I thought so. Stay here. Eat these marshmallows before I do.”

Bishop watched Jack go down the hall before taking out her phone and collecting some ‘evidence’.

…..

A week had gone by and the cases, as they always did, seemed to pile up the closer they got to Christmas. The team kept their heads down, pushing through the workload, but Gibbs made sure they were out by 5 on the last Friday before the 25th, knowing the shortened week that followed would be the hardest, when he needed them the freshest. Everyone had said their goodbyes, leaving him alone in the bullpen. He was just locking things up when he saw her on the landing.

“Jack.”

“Gibbs.” She jogged down the last few stairs and came around Tim’s desk. “Brigade’s gone home?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice of you to give them the weekend off,” she said, standing close.

He shrugged off the praise. “We’ve got 4 cases on the go and 4 days to get them done. I don’t want any excuses on Monday.”

She patted his lapel, not falling for his gruff reply. “You’re like the marshmallows I put in my hot chocolate, Cowboy.”

He grunted. “For that, you can help me get a tree tomorrow.”

The shift in the conversation made her blink. “What?”

“A tree. Tomorrow. You.”

“Ha ha, I got all that, smartass. Why do you need me?”

“Ain’t gonna lug itself out of the bush.”

“Out of the- Don’t you buy a tree in a parking lot or something?” His stony expression said it all. “Or not.”

“0800.”

“At risk of sounding repetitive, I’m going to say it again- what?”

“They don’t teach you the military clock in the army, Army?”

“You are full up on smartass today, aren’t you? Eight o’clock. A.M. Doesn’t give me the information I want, like, what in the world am I doing up at that ungodly hour on a Saturday?”

“A tree,” he repeated, purposely enunciating it excruciatingly slow. “You don’t have Christmas trees in California?”

“You want me to go get a Christmast tree with you tomorrow at eight in the morning?”

“Thought I’d covered all that.” He said it almost to himself.

“Eight in the morning? _Eight?_ ”

The fact she only protested the time and not the task filled him with a warmth he pretended to ignore. “Seven better?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You show up at my apartment at 7 in the morning and I will make sure they never find your body.”

“Then you better be ready by 8.” He left her gobsmacked at his desk and was nearly at the elevator when he turned and said, “An’ bring your own thermos. I’m all out of sugar.”

…..

For all her complaints about the hour, he was pleased to see her standing outside her apartment and ready to go at 7:59. She had dressed for the job, outfit complete with snow pants and good boots. The huge pom pom on her hat brought style to function and a smile to his face. If that wasn't Jack all over, he wasn't sure what was. He watched her slide into the truck and wrestle with the seat buckle through her mitts and wondered when he had fallen in love with her.

When she caught him staring and said, "What?”, he briefly (alarmed) wondered if he had said the unexpected thought out loud. But her bright gaze and patient tilt of her head relieved his concern.

"Just wonderin' how many layers you're wearin', California."

"Please," she scoffed. "Raised in Philly. I know cold." Though his worry about blurting out his newfound realization had been assuaged, he wondered how much his eyes were still confessing, because the head tilt became a curious one, and she slyly added, "Three. Just in case it comes up later.”

He couldn’t stop the one-note chuckle that escaped the corner of his mouth. Throwing the truck into gear, he pulled away from the curb and gestured to the small space behind the bench seat. Unable to resist his tempting glance, she peeked over and sighed.

“You’re an angel,” she said, reaching back for the thermos.

“You don’t even know what’s in it.”

“At this time of the morning, I’ll drink your tar if I have to.”

“I told you to bring your own.”

“Funny enough, I also ran out of sugar.”

“Can’t imagine how that happened.”

She wrinkled her face in faux annoyance, then unscrewed the cup and the inner cap. The content’s aroma wafted up to her nose and he inwardly congratulated himself for the choice.

“Hot chocolate!” Her voice filled the cab with joy. “See? Just like I said- marshmallow.” She squeezed his bicep to make sure he knew she was talking about him.

“You’re gonna make me sorry I brought it,” he said, attempting to sound irritated.

She must have seen his smirk because she said, “No, I’m not.” 

The hot sweet drink hit the spot and she hummed her appreciation, her eyes closed, her face beatific. The roads were clear enough that he was able to sneak sidelong glances at her, admiring the profile that was soft but determined, the chin that was lifted to face anything he could throw at her, the smile that could convince him to do the same. Her eyes opened just in time to catch him looking. He didn’t bother hiding his guilt and in fact, copped to it with a grin. 

“You’re gonna want that when we get the tree,” he said, pointing to the thermos, “so don’t drink it all.”

Glancing out the window, she asked, “Where exactly are we getting this tree?”

He turned the truck down a narrow road. “Got a friend with some land. Lets me come every year to pick one out.”

The road was lined on both sides by a column of trees that stretched into the horizon.

“You weren’t kidding about dragging a tree out of the bush, were you?”

“Nope.” His hands deftly managed the wheel as the road hit a rough patch. “You never do this as a kid?”

“Not really, no. We had an aluminum tree. It was the only thing my mom ever really asked for.”

He blew out a snort. “What is it with you women and aluminum trees?” Knowing she was waiting for more, he said, “Mom got one. One year and one year only. Dad donated it to the Salvation Army the next.” His eyes squinted as if trying to make a memory clearer. “Pretty sure I saw it there the last time I was in Stillwater.” His dry delivery got the laugh it intended. Pulling as close to the side of the road as possible, he put the truck in park and turned off the ignition. “Looks as good a place as any.”

She looked over her right shoulder, then her left. “Right here?”

“Yep.” He reached behind the seat and brought out a hatchet.

Eyeing the tool, she remarked, “Good place for a murder.”

He leaned close, so close he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. He allowed himself to enjoy the way they dilated at his nearness, the way her breath became shorter, sweet against his mouth before he reached over and opened her door. “Let’s go, California.”

“I’m from Philly!” she protested as she hopped out of the truck. “I grew up two hours away from you, tough guy.” Hearing the words made her shake her head in wonder. “Wow. I never thought about it that way- we grew up within driving distance of each other.”

“Yeah,” he said, coming around the truck, “but a decade apart.”

“Mmmm. Still, it’s something to wonder, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t inclined to look back on the past and wonder about all the ‘if only’s. Life had thrown him too many curveballs, knocked him down with a punch to the gut too many times. Once Shannon and Kelly were gone, he knew the dangers of living with ‘what might have been’. Trying to reimagine the past only made people lose focus on the now, and he didn’t want to lose a minute with her.

“I’m wonderin’ when we’re gonna get around to using this.” He held up the hatchet.

“Okay, okay,” she relented with raised hands. “Lead the way, Davy Crockett.”

…..

They trekked into the trees for 10 quiet minutes, the beautiful silence broken only by the snow crunching under their feet as he laid the tracks and she followed in his size 14 prints. The air was cold enough to cause her breath to form clouds, but not so cold that it took her breath away. The man in front grunted every so often and it occurred to her that the uneven terrain must be doing a number on his knees. She was surprised getting a tree was that important to him, but she was ready to follow him into the heart of Great Falls Park if that’s what he wanted. Such was her conviction that she walked right into the back of him when he suddenly stopped, and the force of her forward progress pushed him into the snow. Her hands flew to her mouth to cover her squealed surprise and the laughter that followed, seeing him flat on his back and wondering how he got there. He wasn’t much of a poet but even he could find beauty in the way the sun sparkled the snowflakes that dotted her hat and reflected in her eyes. Her smile lit up everything else. 

“Sloane.”

The word was nearly a whisper and she bent over to catch the rest. That was her mistake. That, and having one end of her scarf loose for him to reach up and pull down. There was no covering her squeal this time and she laughed as she fell into him. Her weight pushed him deeper into the snow and it creeped into his collar, but he didn’t care. Her delight charmed his own laugh to escape and he thought they must’ve made a hell of a sight. His gloved hand came up to brush hair from her face, and their misted breaths were close enough to mingle in the air. Her mitts pressed between them, flat against his chest, giving her just enough room to look at him. His eyes seemed sharper and bluer against the white, white snow and his smile took ten years off his face. 

“Jethro,” she said in reply to his use of her surname. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he only seemed to use it in the private moments between them, treating it with the same reverence that others did with his first name. A flicker in his eyes reminded her how rare it was for him to hear it; the soft intake of his breath inhaling the first time _she_ had said it. The glimpse of what it meant to him gave her the cockiness to say, “Are you going to kiss me or make snow angels all-”

His lips were surprisingly warm on hers and his tongue even warmer, bypassing any hesitancy and going straight to laying a claim and making a statement. She smiled against his mouth at the confidence and returned it in kind. Being on top allowed her to dictate the pace and intensity, but when it wasn’t to his liking, he didn’t hesitate in tightening the scarf around his hand and pulling her closer. She loved how they seemed to fit even with layers of clothing between them. Her soft moan shared her discovery and his bite on her lower lip was his reply. She had to pull back, had to get her head clear before they ridiculously started making out in a snowbank. 

He seemed to understand because he reminded her, “Tree isn’t gonna lug itself out of the bush.”

She stared into playful blue eyes. “No, no it isn’t.” Hoisting herself up by pushing off his chest, much to his grunting dismay, she stood over him and tugged at her scarf still entwined around his hand, taut between them. “Give me that back and I’ll help you up.”

“You help me up and I keep it.”

Her mouth pursed delightfully. “I help you up and I bring it to your house the next time I come over.” 

The bargaining and the seductive promise behind it made him groan. “Jesus, Sloane.”

“What? You’re the one who’s already wanting to keep my clothes.” 

She held out a hand and he accepted her terms by using it to get up, though he didn’t consider the subject quite closed. It had taken them 2 years to get there, but the kiss brought everything to light, made everything feel possible.

“If I’m holdin’ them, it means you’re out of them.”

Her mouth dropped at his bluntness, her eyes danced at his ploy. “Wow. Four wives. I get it now.” She was willing to give as good as she got in this sudden shift in their relationship and he grinned at the banter.

“The tree, Jack?”

“Right. The tree.” With her hands on her hips, she turned around, surveying their surroundings. “Well, you stopped us here, so you must’ve seen something you like. Don’t even say it, Cowboy,” she quickly added, hearing the words just as they left her mouth and his chuckle that immediately followed them. 

He wasn’t one to follow orders. Stepping behind her, he brought his lips within an inch of her ear. “Besides you?” Deftly avoiding the elbow he knew was coming, he asked a different question. “Why don’t you pick out somethin’?”

“Me?” She turned into him. “You want me to pick out your tree?”

“I want you to pick out _a_ tree. Preferably before Christmas.”

He was expecting another elbow attempt and was caught off guard by her kiss that landed on the side of his mouth. Her hand cupped his jaw and the turn to face away from him encouraged his arms to curl around her waist and pull her close. He silently waited while she cast a critical eye at the cluster of trees around them. His patience paid off when she swayed in his arms and pointed to their left.

“That one.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“I am. That one.”

“Okay.” He picked up the hatchet that had fallen into the snow.

She banged her mitts together in glee. “Can we get to choppin’ now?”

He could only shake his head. “Yeah. We can get to choppin’ now.”

…..

Despite the assumed threat that she would be helping him lug the tree out of the bush, he did all the work as a reward for her deftness with a hatchet. The swiftness in which she had chopped down the tree caught him by surprise, and it didn’t go unnoticed, based on her smirk and the way she had winked. She had walked past him, hatchet in hand and said, “First warning, Cowboy,” before beginning to retrace their path back to the truck. It had taken him a second to pick up his jaw from the ground.

Back in the truck and on the way home, she enjoyed the hot chocolate and the feel of his coat under her hand as she idly played with his sleeve. The kiss had only encouraged her to touch him more than before, something he didn’t think was possible. The beauty was in how oblivious she was to it, like her brain had been given permission to let down her final guard, her eyes admiring the passing view while her fingers found a home under his cuff. Her attention was so lulled by the moment that it wasn’t until he made a familiar left turn that she blinked at the realization.

“This is my apartment.”

He glanced out the windshield. “Yep.” Unclicking his seat belt, he had his hand on the door handle before saying, “You comin’ or do I need to pick the lock?”

“Ooh, if I come will you still pick the lock? I love watching you work with your hands.”

For the second time in a matter of an hour, she had caught him flat-footed by her flirtations. The small part of him that was annoyed at the effect she had on him was shouted down by the rest that found it sexy as hell. 

“You can watch these hands drag your tree upstairs.” 

He was out of the truck by the time the words made sense in her head. “Wait, what?” Quickly unbuckling her belt, she stepped out into the cold, shivered once and looked over the truck bed where he was untying the rope on his side. “My tree?”

“Yeah. You know, the thing you chopped in the bush. Kinda the whole purpose of the trip?”

“I thought we were getting _you_ a tree. You said-” She caught his patient look through the evergreen branches. “You said ‘a tree’. You never said it was for you. Bishop.”

His attention went back to the task. “What about her?”

As she began untying the rope on her side, she shook her head. “Don’t even pretend. She told you about my tree. She was incredibly disappointed by it.”

He hummed. “She _did_ say somethin’ about Charlie Brown.” He tilted the tree on its end and grabbed it by the ties. “Grab the bag in the tool box,” he said, jutting his chin towards the long container.

“It’s a good tree!” Jack protested even as she followed his direction. Hoisting the canvas bag out of the box, she couldn’t resist peeking. “It’s… a tree stand.”

“If you don’t have the tree, you’re not gonna have the stand. Found an extra one in the basement.”

“This is brand new.”

“Huh.” He shrugged and started bustling the tree towards the building, which prompted her to move.

“Here, let me get the door,” she said, jogging ahead. 

They jostled into the elevator with the tree and she started laughing. 

“We’ll cut it when we get inside,” he told her, knowing they must’ve made quite the sight. “You got tools?”

The question got an indignant snort. “I got tools.”

…..

It pleased him to find out she _did_ have tools, and not just a handful of them, either. When she brought out the 3 drawer tool kit from her closet, he grinned and nodded appreciatively.

“Okay,” he said. “I need a hacksaw.”

After trimming the trunk and lifting the tree into the stand, he got her to hold it still while he bent down to tighten the screws. “Grab me some water. A lot of it.” He stood while he waited, eyeing the tree. She came back with a pitcher filled to the brim. “Keep an eye on the level line so the thing doesn’t dry out,” he directed as he poured the water into the stand. “That’s it.”

She looked almost sheepish when she admitted, “I don’t have decorations. I mean, not enough.” He shot a look at her tiny tree offering in the corner. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judgin’. Much. You don’t need ‘em right now anyway. Tree needs to settle.”

“Oh,” she said. “Tree needs to settle. Get comfortable. Make itself at home.” She nodded sagely despite his glare.

“Smart ass. We’ll pick up some decorations tomorrow.” The promise was only a small glimpse of intimacy, of ‘coupledom’, but he could tell it pleased her nonetheless. “In the meantime, grab the box in that bag.”

The same bag that held the tree stand also held a box she hadn’t seen when she first peeked inside. It was small, about the size of a box of chocolates, but wooden with a slide cover. When she went to hand it to him, he tilted his head, silently giving her the duties. The cover slid out of its groove, slowly revealing the contents. Her soft “Oh,” told him he had made the right call. With a delicate touch, she brushed her finger over the small wooden ornaments, their painted glaze shining as bright as her eyes.

“These are beautiful,” she said, hardly able to look away. “Did you make these?” Shaking her head, she answered her own question. What she knew about the man only confirmed it. “Of course you did.” Finally lifting her eyes, she looked into his gentle face. “Bishop sent you a picture of my tree, didn’t she?”

“You make a habit outta asking questions you already know the answer to?”

She knew it was his way of deflecting the credit for the time and care he put into the gesture, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. “So you drag me out into the bush to get a tree and… you make me these.” The lighthearted nature of the first part of her accusation was defeated by the heartfelt thanks in the second.

“They’re just decorations, Sloane.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

Her hand lifted to his cheek, stroking over late afternoon stubble before dipping down to his collar and pulling his mouth to hers. It still had some of the newness that threaded through that first kiss in the snow, but the second time held a confidence that allowed her to moan into his mouth and slip her tongue between his teeth, a confidence that allowed his hands to come around her waist and cover her back pockets, pulling her tight into his pelvis. Blindly, she set the box down on the nearby table to properly bring both hands up around his shoulders, bunching the soft flannel in her fists. His fingers had found the space between her sweater and her-

He groaned.

“Three layers,” she reminded him. “I told you.” She reached back and tugged the shirts free, grabbed his wrist and laid his hand against her ribs.

The take-charge attitude sent a fire through him. “All this for wooden ornaments, huh?” Between kisses, he said, “Send me a list of things ya want built.”

The seriousness under the seduction made her head fall back and the laughter bubble to the surface. His lips followed the vibration up her throat. 

“How long is it going to take the tree to settle?”

“About 3 hours,” he nipped under her jaw. “Why? You got somethin’ in mind?”

“My scarf’s hanging up by the door.” The sly reminder brought a smile she could feel under her ear and she heard his soft declaration, each word punctuated by a kiss.

“Best. Christmas. Ever.”

…..

-end


End file.
